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Sam was sick and tired on multiple levels.
She'd had this horrible flu for five days and still didn't feel like she was on the mend, even though she'd been chugging orange juice and taking all of the vitamins and cold medicine she could. She still coughed like a failing engine, and her nose felt raw from the number of times she'd used a tissue.
Perhaps she would feel better if she stayed in bed more. Unfortunately, said bed was currently occupied by her fiance. And even though Jonas was exhibiting much milder symptoms than her own, he still insisted that he was terribly sick and needed help. He complained incessantly, and right now, he wanted something to eat.
I'm not your mother, Sam thought grumpily. She felt a pang as she thought of her own mother, who had made the best chicken noodle soup and always came in to check on her daughter, even when she was sick herself. Sam would give anything to have her mother's comforting arms around her again. But there was nothing she could give to bring her mom back, and so, just as her dad had taught her, she straightened her back and trudged onward, accepting that the only chicken noodle soup she'd get would be the one she made for herself. And for my 'poor baby' in the bedroom.
Sam wouldn't have minded tending to Jonas several months ago. However, the more time she spent with him, the more she realized that her friends were right - he really was a controlling jerk. Her patience with this man was wearing thin, and her own ill health wasn't helping right now. Jonas had no idea how close she was to kicking him out, sick or not.
"Honey!" he weakly called out. "Can you bring me some water?"
She opened her mouth to respond, but began hacking before she could answer. It was a long few moments until she finally choked out, "Sure!" She filled a glass with water as quickly as she could in her weakened state and made her way back to Jonas.
He accepted it without so much as a thank you in return. "Got that soup started yet?"
Sam raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "I barely even made it in there before you called for water."
Jonas sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Well, sorry. I didn't know you were moving that slowly." The judgment in his voice was unmistakable.
Sam frowned, the frustration of the last two days in which he had been sick with her starting to come to a head. "I'm sick. Really sick. Can you cut me a little slack here?"
"Sam, you've 'been sick' for five days now," he scowled, looking even more unattractive than ever. "You can't still really be that bad off."
Sam stared at him in disbelief. Seriously? How did I ever think this guy was marriage material? "I am still sick, Jonas. My gosh, do you really think I'm faking this?"
Jonas huffed and grabbed a tissue to wipe his runny nose. "I think you're being overdramatic. Maybe you just need to be up moving around some more. My mother always said staying in motion made her feel better faster."
Sam planted a hand on her hip, grabbing a tissue of her own with the other. "I am not your mother," she said, firmly giving voice to what she had earlier kept to herself. "And most people would advise rest when someone is sick. If someone would help me, we'd have our soup, and I could get more of the rest I need."
Jonas shrugged, leaning back against the headboard with what she could only describe as an uncaring look. "I just figured you'd be tougher than that, Captain."
He did not just pull that... "I just need some help around here!" she snapped.
"I'm sick!" he snapped back. "What do you want from me, Sam?"
Sam's mouth hung open as she took in the man before her. The hypocrisy and sheer lack of concern were just too much. I want more than you can give me, it seems. She silently turned around and went back to the kitchen, hoping to finish making some soup before she had to collapse into bed. She was not engaging with him any further.
When she still didn't feel better the next day, Sam drove herself to the doctor for treatment of what turned out to be bronchitis. The only thing she would ever approach Jonas with again was her not-so polite "request" for him to move out.
"Sam?" Pete poked his head around the corner of the doorway into her living room. When he saw Sam standing rather close to said entry, he jumped back a bit - in fear, Sam realized. She'd told him on the phone earlier that she had caught the stomach bug that was making its rounds in Colorado Springs, and it was clear he did not want to catch it. After the day she'd had with it, she couldn't blame him at all. Heck, she'd have worn a mask and gloves before visiting anyone unfortunate enough to have caught it.
Sam suspected he would've avoided the house entirely if he hadn't left his wallet there. So here he was, ready to pick it up and get out of dodge.
He'd have to grab it first.
"Your wallet's on the coffee table," she said, moving well away from both the door and that particular piece of furniture.
Pete nodded. He pulled out a can of Lysol and walked to the wallet, spraying it thoroughly. "So, uh... how are you doing?" he asked, still looking nervous about being there.
"A little better, I think," Sam replied, leaning against the wall weakly. "I haven't felt the urge to throw up in at least an hour."
Pete grimaced. "Gah, I'm sorry, honey. I know how terrible you're feeling right now."
Sam half-smiled, not really feeling great but appreciating his concern nonetheless. "I'm just glad it seems like it's only a twenty-four hour bug. At least, that's what my teammates have been experiencing."
Pete smiled. "That's good." He grabbed his wallet, now mostly dry on the table, and put it in his pocket. "I better go now. I'm supposed to meet a couple of the guys from the station at this new deli downtown. Apparently the soup's to die for."
Soup. That sounded good, and Sam's stomach rumbled a bit. She would need to eat at some point, and a simple soup might be just the thing to try. "That sounds really good," she said, hoping he'd pick up on the hint.
He didn't. "Yeah, babe. If it's as good as people are saying it is, I'll have to take you there when you're feeling better."
He started walking to the door before she called out. "Could you bring me some? Maybe drop it at the door?"
Pete blinked. "Oh, yeah! Sure! It didn't occur to me that you might want any food right now."
Sam shrugged. Fair point. "I may want some later this evening," she explained.
He nodded. "Got it. I'll bring some over later."
She smiled. "I appreciate that."
He smiled back before he apparently remembered that she had the stomach flu. Edging over to the door once more, he waved a little nervously. "Good night, sweetie."
"Night," she said softly as he opened the door to leave - after spraying the doorknob with Lysol. He definitely got props for being more sympathetic than Jonas. And a lot cleaner, she thought with a shake of the head. Maybe she should put Pete in charge of cleaning her house as some sort of safety precaution for him once she was feeling better.
When she heard a knock at the door a few hours later, she eagerly walked up to it, now feeling a little hungry. She waved to Pete as he waved back from the safety of his vehicle. She picked up the to-go cup of soup, and he drove off.
Opening the cup, she grimaced almost instantly. He'd picked up a taco soup that she normally would have loved - but this definitely smelled too spicy for an upset stomach. She quickly put the lid back on and sighed. Crackers it is. Bless his heart - he'd tried to help. Sam would just have to be more specific next time.
Sam groaned as she rolled over in her bed, waking up to a surprisingly dim room. She didn't think she'd pulled the curtains closed last night, but she was glad the Nevada sun wasn't blinding her today - she had enough of a headache on her own.
She took mental stock of how she was feeling and sighed. She'd thought the day before that maybe she was just tired. But after several hours of sleep and the way she was feeling right now, it was clear that she was coming down with something after all.
She closed her eyes, bracing herself to get up and get something to eat. Then she'd need to get cleaned up and haul herself to the doctor. Not for the first time, Sam wished she still had her mother around to look after her. Get a grip, she corrected herself. You're a grown woman - don't mope about this. Another part of her gently reminded that there was nothing wrong with wishing her mother was there to help.The Carter practicality chimed in: It's okay to be sad and want her, but you have to be able to get up and take care of yourself.
Sam stumbled out of bed and started walking to the kitchen. Then, she paused.
Is that bacon? she asked with a sniff. Yep. Someone was cooking in her kitchen.
She walked towards the source of the delicious aroma - and was met with a wonderful sight.
"Carter," her fiance said with a bright smile as he removed the last of the bacon from the frying pan he held. He raised an eyebrow. "You know I had this whole idea about bringing you breakfast in bed and all. Could still do that if you want."
Sam smiled, suddenly feeling a lot better. "Sounds good," she admitted, her voice somewhat hoarse. "But I thought you were going back to Colorado Springs this morning. Did your flight get cancelled?"
"No," he hedged as he began pouring syrup over a stack of pancakes. "I, uh..." He seemed a bit bashful all of a sudden, looking down as he grabbed some utensils from a drawer. "I kinda extended my time off for a few more days."
"Oh?" she asked a little breathlessly, only partly because she was sick. "Why'd you do that?"
His lips curved once more as he looked up at her. "I just wasn't ready to leave yet, Sam." He winked. "I'm discovering I kinda like being around you."
Sam flushed a bit. "I like being around you, too, Jack. But..." she continued. "I'm not sure I'll be the best of company. I think I'm getting sick."
"Yeah," he responded, looking more serious. "I noticed that yesterday. Want to go to the doc today?"
Sam nodded. "I'll be heading that way after breakfast."
He looked a bit puzzled at her plan. "I'll drive you, Sam. You might start feeling worse once you really get out and about. Better if you have some help."
She smiled. "It would be nice to have you with me. Thanks."
Jack winked, picking up a plate full of food and a tall glass of orange juice. "You're welcome, Carter." Sam loved it when he called her that. Over the years, his calling her "Carter" had become familiar. Comfortable. At times, it was every bit as intimate as anyone else calling her by her first name would have been. Now that they were finally together, his mouth seemed to gently caress her surname every time he uttered it, warmly and lovingly. It almost felt as good as when he actually touched her.
They had made it to the bedroom by this point, and Sam frowned when she came to a sudden realization. "We won't be able to... get up to anything while I'm sick." She regretted that for both their sakes, hating to waste their time together with her just being sick.
Jack nodded slowly as he set her food and drink on her bed side table. "Right," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone, not seeming too concerned about it. He slung an arm around her, pulling her close. "We'll still be together, though. I'd rather be here taking care of you than be anywhere else." He ran his fingers through her hair with an affectionate smile.
Sam wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly. "I love you, Jack."
He kissed the top of her head tenderly. "I love you, too, Sam," he whispered sweetly. Then he released her. "Let's eat," he suggested. "I'll grab a TV tray and my food." He headed back towards the kitchen, and Sam contentedly sat on the bed. It had been a long time since she felt this cared for when she was sick.
Jack quickly returned, and they got set up to eat breakfast in bed together. Sam smiled at the spread he'd made. Gosh, this man is good. She took a bite of the pancakes and moaned. Jack really knew his breakfast food.
"Good?" he asked, smiling in satisfaction.
She hummed. "Very good. Thank you for this."
"You're more than welcome," he answered.
They ate quietly, comfortable in their shared space. Sam still wasn't over how easy it was to be with him now that they had finally brought their feelings out of the room. Briefly thinking about her last two fiances, she knew she would have never reached this level of intimacy with them.
Jack finally piped up, having eaten his food much more quickly than she could. "I used up the last of your bacon and orange juice, Sam. After we go to the doctor, I'll stop at CVS and grab some more food along with whatever medicine you need. More breakfast foods, of course, and some items for a few other meals. I don't cook very much, but I do make a mean chicken noodle soup." He winked again.
Sam blinked back tears and grabbed his hand, a little overwhelmed by the wave of emotion that was hitting her. This man's a keeper, she happily concluded.
He squeezed her hand before letting go and patting it gently. "Here now," he said. "Better eat up. As much as I'd love to make you swoon, I don't want it to be from a lack of carbs."
Sam laughed and tucked back into her pancakes. She might be sick, but she couldn't help feeling that this was already shaping up to be one of the best days she'd ever had. They might not be able to engage in what was quickly becoming one of her favorite activities, but she was still being loved by Jack O'Neill. It didn't get any better than that.